Taking Back Control Novel Grace And Antonio Mga Nobela at Kwento

His gaze, sharp and wild, devoured Abby from across the desk as if his eyes alone could burn her into ashes. But Abby didn’t so much as blink. With the faint curve of a smile tugging at her lips, mocking his fury, she hovered her thumb just above her phone screen, tauntingly slow. “It’s just something simple,” she uttered in a smooth tone. “Something that will remind you about who is really in control here,” she continued with her left hand coming to rest on his desk. Then, she leaned back slightly, her eyes glinting with poisonous amusement. Antonio’s jaw flexed. “I won’t do anything else for you,” he growled, his chair screeching against the floor as he shot up to his feet. His fists balle

I stormed inside the kitchen and tried to take the pot from Antonio and Luca but their grip was so tight. “You guys should drop the pot,” I shouted and they all stopped what they were doing and looked at me. “The pot of food is mine so give it to me,” I said as calmly as I could. Antonio said. “Grace… hi,” he said with a sheepish grin, still holding the pot. “Give me the pot,” I said again. “He is not releasing it,” Antonio said. “I will if you will,” Luca replied. “You two should just leave the pot,” I shouted again, and like being controlled by a remote, they both gave me the pot, but a handful was still in Luca's hand.

“She has Nova, Noah. She killed my mother in front of me and you want to play detective with old paperwork?” The rawness in my voice cracked something in him, I saw it, the flicker in his eyes, the line of his mouth tightening but he didn’t break. “She wants control, Grace. That’s her endgame. If we cut her off before she can claim it, Nova stops being a bargaining chip. She stops being leverage.” “And if you’re wrong?” My voice dropped, low and hoarse. “If you’re wrong, she dies.” The silence after that was so loud I could hear Desmond’s shallow breathing from the other side of the room.

Her words hung in the air, pregnant with a newfound sense of control and retribution. Antonio's stoic facade wavered ever so slightly, a crack in his composure revealing a flicker of apprehension. He had been a force to be reckoned with, a formidable enforcer of Marcelo's will. Yet now, in this moment, the tables had turned, and Georgina held him within her grasp.

I walked back to the window, looking out at the city skyline. "You made a mistake, brother," I whispered to the empty room. "You thought bringing her here would break me. But you just gave me the key to your destruction." I wasn't going there to save Grace. Not anymore. I was going there to burn Sebastian’s empire to the ground, and I would use Grace as the match to light the fire.

My grumpy, powerful, untouchable uncle. Life had a sick sense of humor. I straightened my jacket, eyes hard now. Tonight wasn’t about guilt…..Or Camille……Or my failures as a lover or as a father. Tonight was about Elena. I didn’t care who stood in my way. Not my past…..Not my uncle…..Not even the mask she’d be wearing. One way or another….. I was winning her back.

You're hoping to use what's left of your pitiful little empire to get the Costa family to stabilize your situation and maybe even help you reclaim everything you've lost. With every sentence, his face grew paler. "Am I right, Antonio?" He clearly hadn't expected me to know so much. However, the Costa family's intelligence network could uncover anything. After he brought Sofia back, she tried to prove her abilities by taking over negotiations for the smuggling routes herself. As expected, she lost everything. To recover those two core routes, Antonio had spent a great deal of effort asking people for help. But everyone knew that helping him meant opposing me. He closed his eyes.

Alaric I never chose Elena Frost as my mate. Three years ago, when I officially took control of the Ashbourne Pack, my authority was still being tested. Power alone wasn’t enough. The elders watched every of my decision, allied packs measured my stability, and my enemies were lurking, waiting for a single misstep. An Alpha without a Luna was a flaw in the hierarchy—an imbalance that could never be respected. That was when my grandmother stepped in—ending the discussion before it become a debate.

On the night I helped Antonio take down Oldshore's largest casino, he dropped to one knee and promised me, "Valentina, as long as I'm around, no one in Oldshore's underworld will touch you." It was the same promise and the same protection. Yet now, they were meant for Silvia. Meanwhile, I, the one he had once cherished above all else, had become the danger he needed to guard against. Just then, footsteps approached. I quickly closed my eyes, pretending I had just woken. "You're awake," said Antonio. "I sent someone to check. It was the Montezaran you crippled at the casino last time." He came to the bedside, dropped a folder onto the bed, and added, "If you sign this settlement, they'll give